


Dying In Memories

by ImpulsivelyBlue



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: M/M, Mentions of other characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 01:37:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpulsivelyBlue/pseuds/ImpulsivelyBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s all in his head. </p>
<p>It feels like burning and twisting and chocking in his blood all over again. It was the scar. The scar Jason had given him, the one that hurt so, so badly when it happened. </p>
<p>The one that hurts him so badly when he remembers. He doesn’t want to remember, not really. But sometimes he does and he almost thinks that the hurt is worth the times when he’s just so happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dying In Memories

 ---

Tim places the plates on the kitchen counter, one for him and one for Jason. It’s a Fairley normal evening, patrol is cancelled for the night and there’s queue of recorded programs and movies to watch on the TV. Stirring the pasta in the pan he smiles to himself, its one of Jason’s favourites. Cheese pasta with the crunchy bread sticks Tim likes.

Smiling softly to himself, Tim takes the pan over to the counter with the plates, wooden spoon still stuck in the pasta. He looks over to the plates and almost drops the pan,

A feeling of almost crushing pain makes him breathe in sharply, he’d forgotten. He feels so stupid, forgetting again. He breathes deeply, trying to steadily himself by reassuring himself that the pain wasn’t there, not really. There isn’t ant wound to show that he’s hurt, there’s nothing medically wrong with him.

It’s all in his head.

It feels like burning and twisting and chocking in his blood all over again. It was the scar. The scar Jason had given him, the one that hurt so, so badly when it happened.

The one that hurts him so badly when he remembers. He doesn’t want to remember, not really. But sometimes he does and he almost thinks that the hurt is worth the times when he’s just so happy.

Tim puts the pan on the counter with a dull thud, he makes his shaking hands let go as he slides down to the floor. His hands shake as he pulls his knees to his chest. He bites at his lip as he tries to stop the sobs that try and escape.

When he forgets its all okay again. He can make dinner and he can smile. He cleans around their- the apartment and its okay. He adds things that he doesn’t need to the shopping list that’s on the refrigerator because he knows Jason likes them.

He does a lot of things but he doesn’t do things as well.

He doesn’t remember what its like to be told that he wasn’t wanted by the only person he has placed his complete trust in, his complete faith, and his complete love. He doesn’t remember that he doesn’t need to add things to the list of shopping on the refrigerator. He forgets that he doesn’t need to clean because he’s the only one there. He forgets that he doesn’t patrol with someone to watch his back. He doesn’t remember the stinging pain of Jason’s hand against his cheek as Jason tells him for the final time, “I don’t love you, I’m not coming back. I don’t want you, why can’t you understand that.” He’d doesn’t remember stumbling in to an apartment missing all of Jason’s things.

In some ways he is grateful for slipping, for falling back in to memories and forgetting the pain. He thinks that it’s the only thing that’s keeping him hanging on to his sanity, but the only thing that’s keeping him alive and wanting to breathe.

Because maybe Jason didn’t mean it, maybe he does want him, Tim would forgive him for all the things he said, all the things he’s done. He would forgive him and live and be sane and be happy. He would.

If Jason came back.

But Jason isn’t coming back, he’s not coming back and sometimes that hurts worse that the burning of the scar or the ghost of a hand on his cheek.

Later when he pulls himself off the floor, face damp with tears and limbs cold from the tiled floor, he looks around the kitchen, acknowledging the fact that things are missing.

Jason’s favourite mug. That magnet that they pick up on a date at the carnival. The tin that used to hold Jason’s favourite tea was no longer by the kettle.

It doesn’t hurt as much now, his mask in place. He’s hidden away all the parts of him that hurt, hidden them from the preying eyes that would hurt him even more, even if they were just trying to help.

He scrapes the pasta in to the bin, puts the plated back in to cupboard and puts the dirty pan in to the sink. On his way out of the kitchen he crosses off the shopping list. He’s not hungry anymore.

His footsteps are quiet, when he reaches his room he doesn’t flinch at the feel of cold sheets in an empty bed.

Maybe tomorrow he won’t remember, maybe tomorrow it wont hurt as much.

 Maybe tomorrow Jason will come back.

Maybe he’s killing himself.

Maybe he’s going insane.

Maybe.

 ---


End file.
